I Say Beatles Are Good Insects. Do You Say No?

Near the end of our trip to Edinburgh I asked everybody what their favorite part had been.  As it turned out, the conversation took a winding turn and I didn’t get a turn to say what I'd liked best.   That was actually a good thing though, because at the time, I really didn’t know what my favorite part had been.  I do know now though.   Hey!  Wipe that smug look off your face.   Drinking Strongbow or Magners or Guiness or Stella was not my favorite thing.  Well, not my absolutely, top of the list, nothing-in-the-world-is-better-than-this favorite thing anyway.  Geez.   I’m kind of hurt.

My favorite thing wasn’t the Scottish wildlife ...

or the Scottish countryside ...

or the architecture.

 

No.  My  favorite part was that we all came home together.  My favorite part of the whole trip was not saying goodbye to anybody.   Nada.  Aaon duine.   That’s right.  Not one person.  Nobody.     

 

I wasn't saying goodbye but I did say a lot of hellos.  I said an excited “Hi!” to Leslie when we picked her up for the four-hour drive to the airport.  The drive that took place a whole day early so we could miss the October snowstorm heading our way.

 I said a friendly “hello” to the British Airways lady who checked us in. 

 I said a very tired “hello” to the rude and cranky sourpuss customs guy in London.  He berated us all because we didn’t fill in an exact street address for where we were staying in Edinburgh.   “When that form says address it means exact address.   It doesn’t mean just a city.  If they didn’t want an exact address it wouldn’t say address.”   In my exhausted state I began searching for a pen to fill it in but he told me, “I"ll let it go this time but just make sure you don't ever do it again.”  He wrinkled up his nose like I'd been on a plane for nine hours without a toothbrush and dismissed me with a disgusted wave of his hand.   I did not say goodbye to him when I left his “kingdom”.  I just wanted to get away from him before he found something else to yell at us about.   It was a relief to finally get to say a “hooray, you made it! Hello!” to Abby in the London terminal after we escaped from the little dictator.

When we left Edinburgh on that last morning, the bus driver who took us to the airport said goodbye but I didn’t.  I said “thank you.”  The pilot on the plane said goodbye but not me.  I said, “thank you! (for not crashing the plane).”  The very friendly U.S. customs lady said hello AND goodbye.  I said “thanks!” for not being like Mr. London customs and wished the London guy had gone to the same customer service training she must have attended.  The shuttle driver who took us to the hotel where our car was parked said “bye bye” but not me, I said, ... nothing.  I was too tired.

When we got home I said hello to the kids.  

Some of the people I work with said hello to me in their own special way. 

 I really love saying hello.  So does Abby.  Look.  Even Dean is almost smiling.  He likes saying hello too.

 

But Friday I had to say goodbye.  And none of us like that.  Doesn't Dean look sad?

 
I tried to forget how to say that goodbye word –  juh ... ooo ... duh ....buh ... eee? I tried to remove it from my vocabulary.  Goodbye?  What?  What'd you say?  I don't understand what you're saying.  Never heard of the word.  I tried to pretend like I wasn’t going to have to use it.  I pretended like we were still on vacation together. 

 







But it didn’t work.  I had to finally say it.  And I didn’t like it. 
























So I pretended like I hadn’t said it.  And now I'm just thinking about when I can say hello again.  We’re all waiting.  Seven weeks and four days …

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I Say Beatles Are Good Insects. Do You Say No?

FORE!

Recently my sister grabbed her husband by his overalls, pulled him off the farm, and they came out for a long-awaited and much anticipated visit. I'd planned a few activities designed to awe and amaze them. Such as ...

a coal mine tour...

And Dave thought his combine was big!

and crawling up...





walking on...







and crawling down

Yes, it's really as high as it looks.

Independence Rock.

However, I'm convinced the activity they enjoyed most was when we allowed them

to cook for us.

Surprisingly, my sister announced that she had her own activity planned. They had brought their very own golf clubs with their very own special fuzzy golf club covers and they wanted to golf with us. Say what? ... you want to ... with us? ... at a real golf course? ... uh ... okay.

Off to the city golf course we went. Some of us went with excitement and anticipation; some of us with fear and trepidation. Shelly called ahead to make sure we didn't need special golfing shirts with collars (uh, nooooooo, this is the municipal golf course) however it turned out sharing golf clubs is frowned upon, even at the muni.



So Dean and I rented golf clubs. Our clubs didn't come with those fancy, fuzzy golf club covers. Mine did come in a dirty, scratched beautiful pink bag though, which made up for their absence.

It turns out Dean apparently has some inherent golfing ability and a nice swing. That's what I kept hearing anyway. "nice swing", "you're a natural", "you should take up golf". Whereas directed at me was, "just put that chunk of dirt and grass back in the hole and step on it", "good job...you hit the ball" after my ball hit the tree, bounced off and rolled back to me,"yeah, hit it again ... no, the person furthest hits first ... yup, you again ...again ..."



In the end I concluded it was a successful first outing since I didn't hit an antelope or any of my fellow golfers.



I used to think that Fore! meant "Watch me hit the ball because I'm really good." But now I know that Fore! really means "DUCK! a golf ball is careening through the trees from another fairway and it's going to land about a foot away from where you are getting ready to swing". I gloated a bit believing that somebody else out there was worse than me. Geez, even I kept my ball in my own fairway. But then it occurred to me that if their ball was winging its way toward us, it meant they not only could hit it further than a ten-foot grounder but they could hit it in the air. But on the bright side, I can only get better. Right?◦

FORE!

Summer Fun

My dad, also known as "Grandpa", "Great-Papa" or "Other Papa", came for a long weekend visit on Thursday. While he was here, instead of slaving outside on the BFD in the heat, sweating alot, and wearing attractive plastic glasses that steam up while generating itchy sawdust that sticks to our sweaty bodies, we felt obligated to go to a baseball game, spend a day on the mountain listening to music, and visit with family. It was torture but we were stoic and didn't complain.

In preparation of my dad's visit, in between work on the BFD, I slipped in a bit (a very tiny bit) of house cleaning last week . The vacuum and I became reacquainted after a long separation, however my friendship with the dust rag is still strained. When Leslie and Ryan came over one night and the girls discovered they could draw really cool pictures on the furniture, Leslie took pity on me and dusted. Later it occurred to me that her act of kindness may have had more to do with preventing the resulting cleanup of dust-covered daughters but I was grateful just the same. When my house is filthy I sometimes leave the vacuum out in the middle of the room so it looks like I'm in the middle of a cleaning frenzy. Because I learned at work recently that spiderwebs stop bleeding, if anyone notices the many spiderwebs decorating our house, I will now also be able to legitimately point out that they are there for medicinal purposes.

Friday night Dean, Dad and I went to the baseball game. The only thing more perfect than sitting outside on a summer evening in front-row seats halfway down the first baseline watching baseball and drinking a beer would be having your team win. Ours did, which only happens when the moon is full, the stars align and my father is still awake at 10:00 p.m., another rarely seen event.



Saturday morning, before we headed up to the mountain for the yearly bluegrass/country music festival, Leslie dropped the kids by for breakfast while she and Ryan searched the garage sales for all items vintage for her shop. Pierce, who is the size of a baby bird but eats like a Sumo wrestler, put his sisters to shame by eating his weight in pancakes. At one point he saw a new platter of pancakes heading to the table whereupon he ditched his fork, quickly grabbed the last three bites of pancake, stuffed them in his mouth, and cheeks bulging, made it known he wanted more.

After breakfast Leslie and Ryan collected their plump son, and the rest of us slathered on sunscreen, grabbed our hats, blankets, cooler, and newly purchased just-like-everybody-else's-camp-chairs-with-a-cup-holder and headed up the mountain. We parked, loaded our gear and shuttled down to the music.



Once at the festival we made short work of preparing our place on the ground and hauling out the food. I was feeling pretty proud of myself for making a macaroni salad at 10:00 p.m. the night before until I looked over at the people to our left and saw they had a small table with appetizers, wine glasses and were uncorking white wine. All they were missing was a tablecloth and finger bowls. We didn't let it bother us though. Well, not much.

We ate



listened to music







made and flew kites



danced





soaked up the sun



enjoyed each other's company



relaxed





and had great fun.

Sunday we filled the day with visiting, eating pizza, searching for raspberries, climbing trees and guessing what time Dad/Grandpa/Great-Papa/Other Papa would get up to leave the next morning.













Monday morning Dad/Grandpa/Great-Papa/Other Papa left for home earlier than a sane person would even consider getting up and a short 9 1/2 hours later was home in time for a late breakfast. He did not stay awake until 10:00 p.m. that night.

Once the weekend was over it was back to the BFD and I am happy to report that the south side of the deck is FINISHED!

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Summer Fun